


Tristitia

by JSwander



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Reunion Sex, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, implied force visions are a result of Palps meddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSwander/pseuds/JSwander
Summary: An alternate timeline where Palpatine focuses his attentions on Obi-Wan Kenobi instead of Anakin Skywalker after the attack on Naboo.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 348
Collections: Obikin Secret Santa 2020





	Tristitia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomicaleto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomicaleto/gifts).



“Thank you for joining me for tea.” Chancellor Palpatine said with his warm, grandfatherly smile. A servant droid poured a cup for them each – the politician and the Jedi.

“I know it must be difficult, with the war taking up so much of your time.”

“Not at all. You have been a close friend of mine for years, your Excellency.”

“I do appreciate that, my boy. I must say,”

“And I appreciate you going out of your way to get this rare blend.” Obi-Wan said warmly, taking a sip of the tea. “It's my favorite.”

“Yes, the very same we had after you defeated that menace all those years ago on Naboo.” Palpatine said warmly, recalling the memory. “Quite the impressive feat. I knew even then that your career would be one to watch with interest.”

“Yes, you told me as much.” Obi-Wan laughed.

He took another long sip, appreciating the view of the Jedi Temple that could be seen from the Chancellor’s study. As he did so, his thoughts naturally drifting back to what had been troubling him for days now. 

“Forgive me but... you seem  _ tired,  _ Obi-Wan. More so than usual.”

“Yes it's... Anakin.”

“Ah.” Palpatine steepled his fingers. “Causing trouble again?”

“No, no nothing like that.” Obi-Wan looked out the window, taking a measured sip of his tea. “I've been... Do you recall how I told you that I had dreams shortly before Satine's death, on Mandalore?”

“Yes, a fascinating story.”

“The dreams have returned. But they're not of her...” A rare quirk of fear that skirted close to desperation fluttered on Obi-Wan's words.

“I know we're in a war,” He whispered, almost more to himself than to Palpatine. “We've lost so many friends already. But Anakin... I would not survive losing him.”

A heavy, meaningful silence settled between the two men.

Palpatine smiled.

“This war has taken its toll indeed. I can hardly claim to know much about the way of the Jedi or dreams granted by the Force. But I do know of the benefits of taking an evening off when one's duties become too stressful to make clear decisions.” Palpatine stood, with the air of something decided.

“I must insist that you join me for an evening at the opera.”

* * *

Obi-Wan sat up in bed that night, long after Anakin had fallen asleep. He ran his fingers through the soft, slightly sweat-dampened locks of his hair. The act often soothed him, though tonight it brought him little comfort.

Obi-Wan watched the flickering, colored lights of the Coruscant skyline dance across the graceful, long neck of his former padawan - the sharp angles of his cheeks and long lashes. Anakin had grown up so well. He was strong, confident. More talented than Obi-Wan could have ever dreamed to be. Anakin grew up to be a powerful warrior, bolstered up by the love and support that Qui-Gon Jinn had never given to Obi-Wan.

The pad of Obi-Wan's thumb tracked along the plush bottom of Anakin's lip, as he felt the familiar flicker of pain when he thought of his own former master. A lifetime ago, that emotion that Jinn evoked had been an intense, bottomless devotion and love. Over the years, it had smoldered and simmered to a dark and burning resentment. Palptaine had been right - in what world could a man who loved Obi-Wan (Qui-Gon had loved him, he was certain of it) deny him for years? Obi-Wan decided years ago that he would never withhold his heart from Anakin the same way. Especially not after he lost Satine - and nearly lost his own heart in the fallout.

Anakin had pulled him out of that dark place.

First as a boy – anchoring him on the precipice of light after his master was stolen from him far too soon. 

Then again after Mandalore – after the Council advised him to meditate rather than acting on his dreams foretelling the tragedy.

This time, Anakin had come to him as a man. Their partnership – their brotherhood bloomed into something carnal and beautiful that both saved Obi-Wan and fed his possessive desire for Skywalker.

Obi-Wan's fingers chased the flickering lights that glowed against Anakin's bare skin, trailing down his side to press his thumb into the sharp dip of Anakin's hipbone. In his sleep, Anakin bit his lip and shifted, his hips grinding on reflex into the mattress even though his body had long since been spent.

It was a wonderfully endearing and alluring display.

If not for the dreams that haunted him.

Obi-Wan's lips ghosted over Anakin's forehead, fear churning deep within. He had ignored them when they whispered warnings of what would occur to Satine. Smoothed them away to a perfect vision of inner peace. Urged himself time and again to accept what might come. But still the thought persisted, like a cancer in his mind.

_ I could have saved her. _

_ I could have made Qui-Gon accept me. _

_ I know I can be stronger. _

The war had made him so tired.

"I won't let anything happen to you." 

Obi-Wan promised, touching his lips to Anakin's forehead.

* * *

_ Yes sir, it's a gorgeous Empire Day here in the galactic hub of Coruscant. Half the system it seems has gathered here to witness the might of the great and glorious Emperor as we raise a flag across the system- _

Anakin groggily opened his eyes. The blue static of the holo projection danced across his skin, washing it out in pale tones.

The image on the screen  _ was _ of a beautiful day – the sharp blue sky of Coruscant was clear of its usual neat striping of traffic lanes. In their place, teams of fighters trailed in an orderly procession across the sky, mirroring the procession of walkers and stormtroopers marching in perfect synchronicity down the manicured streets of Coruscant.

Anakin groaned, unsure what made him feel more ill.

The sight of the planet that had once been his home in such a sorry state, or the ever-present splitting headache that throbbed just behind his eyes.

He rolled forward, hissing in pain.

_ Or _ his  _ neck -  _ rendered stiff and sore from another night on a worn and battered sofa crammed into the makeshift living space of an equally beaten-up compact freighter.

Anakin pressed the heel of his palm to the top of the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly and determinedly ignoring the oppressively upbeat newscaster waxing on about  _ Empire Day  _ or how the sun shines out of Palpatine's wrinkly undergarments.

With his free hand, Anakin groped forward for the switch to shut off the broadcast. He grunted angrily as his torso leaned too far off the sofa, sending him tumbling to the floor of the ship, his blanket trailing after him in an ungraceful tangle.

He wanted to turn it off before it inevitably panned about to show him what had become of his old home, of the Jedi Temple. Or worse...

  
- _The brilliant tactician and war hero who defected from the traitorous Jedi Order and brought peace to the galaxy, shepherding in the glorious rise of the Empire_ -  
  


Anakin freed himself from his blanket in a mad scramble, looking up from his knees at the holo transition as it panned up to the beautiful and stoic face of his former master.

_ The right hand to the Emperor, High General Darth Maeror. _

Obi-Wan was beautiful.

His hair slicked back and perfectly in place. Even with the washed-out colors of the holo projection, Anakin could pick up on the brilliant white of his robes, the flash of the single bronze-gold pauldron in the sun from which a long cape trailed.

Everything about him burned white and glitter gold.

Obi-Wan adjusted his clean gloves, giving a single genial nod to the crowds. His eyes were distant, cold.

They looked right through him.

Anakin made a strangled sort of sound. Like a cornered dog lashing out, he threw out his foot against the table casting the projection. Fortunately, he didn't think he smashed anything in the moment of frustration and anger, though his simmering headache flared to life, pounding angrily against his skull.

“ Empire day already, huh?”

Anakin bowed his head as Mace Windu entered the small back section of the compact freighter, holding two mugs.

“ It's this  _ kriffing  _ headache.” Anakin lied, pulling himself back up onto the sofa. He rubbed angrily at his face again, tugging his ponytail free in an attempt to alleviate any tension about his face.

“ No – no I'm fine I want the caf,” Anakin protested, seeing the look on Windu's face.

He took the chipped mug, downing half of it in a single gulp.

“ You know tea would be more relaxing.”

“ _ Tea  _ isn't going to give me the kick I need to see to the shield generators of the  _ Isolde.”  _ Anakin groused. The ship had taken a heavy hit in their last dogfight. It was a resilient vessel- nearly as stubborn as he was - but was lucky to survive after the astromechs missed the loose coupling that had caused them to fail.

Anakin gamely downed the rest of the caf.

He missed Artoo.

“ Remember to take some time to maintain yourself, Skywalker.” Windu said, not unkindly. “You're no use to the Rebellion if you've run yourself into the ground. Or worse, if you let yourself get weak enough that your mental shields fail,”

Anakin nodded stiffly, only half-hearing him.

“ You saw the broadcast.” Anakin gestured to the table, which was issuing a beleaguered spark every now and then from where Anakin had kicked it. “Ob- Darth Maeror is on the other side of the galaxy right now.” He choked back a lump in his throat. “Besides,  _ Empire Day  _ is the last day they'd be way out here looking for rebels.” He palmed his mug thoughtfully.

“ We should take the day to practice marksmanship with the younglings. Esca is nearly ready to help man the cannons next time we get attacked-”

“We should take the day to refine your meditation technique.” Mace interjected, his voice gentle and low. “Anakin... I  _ know  _ this is a difficult day for you. Even with those shields up, I can sense your pain. Let me-”

Anakin and Mace looked up in unison, feeling the electric frisson in the force a split-second before the alarm went off.

Something massive had just emerged from hyperspace.

Out of the windows, they could see multiple star destroyers shooting into existence.

The small convoy of rebel ships was immediately and definitively surrounded.

Alongside the ships, a burning, crackling presence in the force that burned over and through them. Anger and simmering frustration and aching, infinite sadness.

It was him.

"Anakin-"

Mace turned to caution the Anakin, but the Knight was already gone.

-

Anakin shot off of the ship in his fighter just in time to see one of the ships of their small rebel fleet take a direct hit. He snarled with frustration and rage as he watched it veer off course – engines clearly damaged critically.

Everything happened fast.

Anakin bolted out past the heavy charges of searing green plasma that whizzed by, decimating the ship's shield generators. He charged out to meet the swarm of tie-fighters pouring out of the lower hull of the star destroyer.

How had they gotten here so fast?

Was the broadcast on a delay? Had it been a part of a trap to blindside him?

There would be time to think about it later (there had to be a later).

_ Nothing too fancy. _

Anakin reminded himself like a mantra as he sliced through the attackers, evading and picking them off one-by-one.

The ever-present burning, smoldering lurking behemoth in the Force sizzled electric against the surface of his skin.

Anakin ignored the throb of pain at the crown of his skull as he reinforced his mental shields.

It was vital that he not give himself away. Over the years, too many of his fancier movies had set him apart as a pilot.

Their shield generators were targeted at the same moment as the exhaust vents for the hyperspace generator. In a truly terrifying short span of time, their main hangar had been rendered a sitting duck in the water.

Over the sound of his own guns targeting and taking out tie-fighters with pinpoint precision, he could hear the commands over the radio shift from plans of attack, to those of escape.

"You can't fire the escape pods, you'll be picked off one at a time!" Anakin roared into the comms, plowing through two more fighters with a well-placed barrel roll.

"There's nothing we can do now, the damage on the hangar ship has reached the core reactor!" Mace bit back over the comms. "If we can break free of the attack we can make the jump to hyperspace, we just need a-"

A diversion.

It might not have been what Windu was planning on saying, but it was all Anakin could think of in the heat of the moment.

He looked to the side, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw a pod detach from the flame-licked rebel ship. The escape pods shot clear of the detritus. One of them in particular caused the Force to whisper and tug insistently at his gut.

His younglings were on that ship.

The canons on the enemy star destroyer swivelled into place to target the fleeing parties. The attacking tie-fighters had split away, changing to a pincer formation as they looped in a wide arc overhead to take out the escaping rebel pods in a single, graceful attack.

The Force sang to him a single clear note of certainty through the chaos.

He was going to lose everyone.

No.

They would only lose him.

Anakin threw his arms forward, kicking the fighter forward as he charged into the very focal point of the attack to station his fighter in between the blast and the fleeing pods. The canons glowed in preparation to fire.

Of all the ridiculous maneuvers he had pulled in his time, this one was going to take them all.

Without slowing his vessel, Anakin reached back into his own mind.

He smashed the shields that had for nearly three years kept his mind and signature in the force in check – kept him so vitally hidden from the probing eye of Darth Maeror across the systems.

The sensation was like a body forced into too small a shell, finally bursting free - crushed and numb nerve endings screaming from the pain that freedom brought. His presence in the Force exploded outward as his splitting headache was washed away with a painful sort of high that felt just like the poison green plasma lights of two dozen different canons trained directly on his ship.

His mental energy continued to roar outward, meeting that dark, burning presence in the force like so much kindling to the flame.

The plasma cannons off the star destroyer fired.

Anakin smelled the ozone first, followed by the sight of the tie-fighters obliterated before they could unleash their attack.

The star destroyer had changed course – eliminating any ship poised to attack the ship that now undeniably contained Anakin Skywalker.

The pods fired off into hyperspace.

The flames seared across Anakin's mind, filling him – scouring him. His body seized and writhed, he couldn't breathe. Anakin's eyes rolled into the back of his mind, and everything was replaced by a heavy blanket of dark quiet.

* * *

Anakin could feel his master's hand running through the sweat-dampened locks of his hair as he dozed.

It was something Obi-Wan had done for him for years – ever since a particularly bad nightmare when he was just a padawan. The action always brought him an immense amount of comfort, even after their relationship evolved into something more.

Often Anakin would pretend to sleep, just to soak up more of his touch.

Especially on nights like this, when he woke up after a distressing dream. The anxiety still churned in his gut, over visions that simmered beneath the surface of his worn and weary mind.

Each touch of the cool fingertips against his head seemed to eek out the lingering pain – siphoning away the ever-present ache in his mind, leaving his thoughts quiet and cool.

Anakin nuzzled against his master's thigh, reaching out to cling to him.

“ It's alright, padawan mine.” Obi-Wan soothed, his voice very soft. “Did you have a bad dream again?”

“ M'not a padawan...” Anakin groused, squirming against the poor feeling in his stomach. Rather than fading away, Anakin's heart was beginning to race. He felt as if the nightmare was somehow returning the more awake he became.

Obi-Wan's lap was soft. His own body was warm.

Anakin could feel that his outer, heavier garments had been removed.

Obi-Wan did that often, especially after long missions or assignments. Anakin would fall asleep wherever he landed – on the sofa or a chair, even on the floor once or twice. He would wake up hours later with his boots and outer robes removed, often with a tall glass of water or a ration bar nearby.

His master always looked out for him.

It was one of a million little things he missed so terribly, now that-

Anakin's eyes opened blearily, as he rolled to face Obi-Wan's chest.

His clothing was very fine – much different than the standard robes he always wore. These were soft, almost silk. Anakin's gaze came into focus - pure white with black and gold filigree.

Obi-Wan –  _ his  _ Obi-Wan – never wore anything like it before.

With a slick, cold feeling in his stomach the nightmare that was the last few years of his life. 

“ Anakin... you're alive.” Obi-Wan breathed. His voice was soft, almost reverent. Though something dangerous quavered at the end of the sentiment. A shiver of joy so unrestrained it shimmered close to something like hysteria. The fingers in the gold curls of Anakin's hair twisted into a knot.

“ I thought you were dead...  _ how could you hide from me? _ ” Obi-Wan's voice splintered off into a tone Anakin had never heard before – sharp and wild.

Anakin was seized, thrown over onto his back on the luxuriant plush sofa that they had been sitting on. There was no hiding from them now, the blaze of gold sith eyes that glared down at him.

The same ones that adorned the propaganda material that the Empire pushed across their territory.

The sight of him made Anakin feel faintly ill.

“ _ You had no right to leave me! _ ” Obi-Wan roared, his hair askew, stray wisps falling into his face.

“ How could you leave me alone?” His visage cracked. The fire of his force signature was suddenly washed with ice.

“ Obi-Wan...” Anakin's voice was a cracked whisper. It was only then both men seemed to realize that there was a hand on Anakin's throat. Maeror tore back, as Anakin gasped and spluttered, drawing in painful gulps of air.

“ Oh, Anakin...” Obi-Wan's hand soothed the man's neck, his lips trailing shortly after. They pressed against the pulse of his neck, the soft graze of teeth against his skin.

Despite himself, Anakin shuddered. His skin felt electric. Obi-Wan – Meaeror – this wrong twisted version of himself... he could still feel  _ his master  _ suffering beneath it all.

“ You've been alone too, haven't you? I can taste how lonely you've been.”

“ The rebels... Obi-Wan, the younglings-” Anakin scrambled. A silk gloved hand had slipped up under his tunic, pressed against the warm, taught skin of his stomach. Obi-Wan looked up at him – through him- as he scrambled away down the sofa.

“ There were younglings in those pods, what happened to them?”

“The rebels? Gone. It doesn't matter, none of that matters now.” Obi-Wan said dismissively, sinking his teeth into Anakin's neck like a man starved.

A gasp escaped from Anakin's lungs in a deep sigh of relief - choked out to a dry sob as his head fell back against the soft pillows of the wide sofa, a warm trickle of blood ran down from his neck at he bite.

They were safe.

He'd managed to protect them.

Anakin's sob bubbled up into a semi-hysterical laugh – the high of the rebel fleet safely escaping mingling with the endorphin rush that came with the alleviation of a multi-year long headache. The pain of keeping his shields up near-constantly for so long had evaporated like smoke, and in the hollows of his mind Obi-Wan's presence poured in.

Anakin was distantly aware that the two were kissing. Even after so much time apart, his body knew what to do, muscle memory taking over as the two slid back into place against one another. Their frayed and shattered bond crackled to life, teeth clacking together as legs tangled.

_ You're alive. _

_ You're here. _

_ I missed you, _

_ I need you, _

Obi-Wan's presence was everywhere in his mind, thick and warm and hungry.

Anakin couldn't help but be reminded of that fateful night on Mustafar - finding Obi-Wan standing over the slaughtered Separatist leaders. The war was effectively over by the blood on his hands – the hands that cupped Anakin's face so tenderly, kissing him deeply and hungrily - entreating him to join him in his fall.

It had been his own private secret in years to come, a shameful truth that kept him company on lonely nights – how he had wanted it then.

To give in, to take Obi-Wan's hand and let himself be led into the fire.

The thought of being alone, being without the other half of his soul had been an impossible notion to consider.

Anakin sat up, holding his arms over his head to let Obi-Wan tug his shirt off. His breathing was heavy, pupils blown wide. He took Obi-Wan’s wrist in his hands, tugging off the sith's white gloves with his teeth – just as he longed to do every time he had seen him on holo broadcasts or posters the last three years.

Obi-Wan purred, deep and low with approval.

Without his glittering uniform, without Anakin’s tattered coat and rebel tags - with only their bare skin between them - perhaps for some time they could pretend. 

Anakin leaned over the side of the sofa, his bare legs spread wide.

“ My Anakin... you were always so pretty here...” The ghost of a fingertip traced Anakin's tight, pink hole causing him to jump and gasp. His cheeks burned with humiliation and longing, muscles reflexively clenching around nothing, feeling far too empty.

“ Ah, my poor dear one. You've been simply aching without me, haven't you?”

“ Obi-Wan, please...”

Anakin hissed as a warm, expensive and floral-scented liquid was poured generally over the small of his back. Anakin leaned forward, both to let it fall between his cheeks and to let his flushed, stiffened cock rub against the smooth fabric of the sofa.

“ You know that's not what I want to hear,”

“I... I can't...”

Obi-Wan's fingertips trailed down Anakin’s sides, tracing the curve of his abdominal muscles to trace the dip of his hips. Anakin gasped, rucking his hips forward, sobbing as form hands held his hips to keep him from rutting mindlessly against the cushions of the sofa.

His legs trembled, a dry sob pulled from the back of his throat.

Anakin buried his face into the crook of his elbow.

“ Master...” The word was sinful and sweet on his lips.

Anakin nearly sobbed with relief as a long slender finger slipped inside of him, giving Anakin not nearly enough to clench and rut against.

“ So desperate for me... my poor padawan,” A firm hand stroked Anakin's perineum, cupping and squeezing his balls. Anakin's breath came in shallow gasps, holding himself still as possible even as his own cock throbbed and leaked needfully at the tip.

Obi-Wan's presence in his mind was like a heavy hand on the back of his neck, making rational thought or panic a difficult, slippery thing to hold onto – an invitation to let go and let himself have this respite.

Each touch was too familiar, too intimate.

Anakin had tried so hard for months – but he was a hungry creature.

He needed to be loved.

“ _ Master- _ !” Anakin cried out, long and drawn as he felt himself be finally, gloriously breached by the hot, thick head of Obi-Wan's cock. Anakin mouthed at the arm of the sofa, his vision blurring as he languished in the feel of being slowly stretched and filled – the hot silk slide of flesh into flesh.

Obi-Wan held Anakin still, hands firm on his hips as he began a slow, decadent fuck - savoring every inch of re-taking Anakin’s body. 

Distantly, Anakin was aware of himself stammering thoughtlessly.

“ Oh, oh-! Master, I missed you – I love you, don't leave me, don't – please,  _ please­-” _

The muscles of his back arched and rippled as Obi-Wan began to undulate and move into him with long, smooth motions. A hot mouth breathed open-mouthed kisses onto his shoulder blades as each stroke of his body massaged bliss into his very being.

“ That's it my dear one, my darling – oh, you kept yourself so tight for me,” Obi-Wan soothed, even as his body began to quicken its pace. 

He sobbed openly as Obi-Wan pulled out of him, even just for a moment to turn him onto his back. He guided Anakin to hook his legs around Obi-Wan's legs, allowing him to face those gold eyes as he was smoothly but urgently penetrated.

There was no denying it now, no hiding behind familiar touches and muscle memory as Anakin looked up with glazed eyes into those of the sith lord as his body was beautifully ravished.

His mind far too gone to care, every nerve in his body singing with electric delight.

His fingers dug into Obi-Wan's back, rocking in time with him.

Untidy mouths found one another, mingling soft cries and moans of delight.

Anakin shuddered and came in Obi-Wan's arms with nothing short of a muffled scream. He would be embarrassed at how terribly quickly he had been rendered undone, if there was any time to reflect.

Obi-Wan had developed a hunger as well.

With Anakin's will tempered by their first frantic fuck, Obi-Wan pulled the Jedi Knight onto his lap, pressing back inside of him. He moved him with his arms and the aid of the Force, thrusting up into him ruthlessly. Anakin let himself go mercifully slack, his sensitized body given over to the will of his master.

His mind was blissfully sluggish, dimly aware of time passing as their bond in the force sang in unison.

Sometime later, Anakin slowly became aware of himself. The two lounging in a hot pool of water in an overly-elaborate bathing chamber. He pressed hot kisses to Obi-Wan's bruised neck while leisurely riding in his lap.

“ Master... ah,” His eyes fluttered closed as a wave of pleasure bubbled up and washed over him. Firm hands on his hips kept him moving.

“ Mn... what’s going to happen now?” He murmured. “With us, the rebels, with the – with the empire,” His voice was breathy and soft. “You can't – we -  _ oh-” _

Rational thought slipped through his fingers as the hot, turgid cock deep inside him struck particularly well. Anakin ground his hips down against it, bouncing in the hot water as he chased the pleasure high. He was vaguely aware of Obi-Wan answering him, with an amused lilt to his voice as he steadied Anakin on his lap, guiding him through another deep climax bubbling up and washing over him.

It wasn't until some hours later that Anakin could feel himself slowly drift back down to a rational plane of thought.

He was sprawled out on a wide, soft bed. His body gleaming slightly. Obi-Wan had taken his time and enjoyment in cleansing his body, using a warm, wet cloth on Anakin’s sore and distended muscles. 

It was something else they had used to do - whether it was after a particularly hard training session or making love. 

Anakin glanced over at Obi-Wan with heavy-lidded eyes.

A long, and truly deep sleep was tempting him.

Obi-Wan looked out of a wide window, following the gentle swirl of a cosmic storm billowing out in the distance. His eyes softly lit by a deathstick he held between his fingertips, clothed in a neat-fitting robe.

“ One of many bad habits I picked up, to cope with losing you.” Obi-Wan explained, looking down at the deathstick. He turned, grinding it out on a silver tray.

“ Master... what are we going to do?” Anakin murred.

“ Exactly what I promised you, three years ago on Mustafar.” Obi-Wan said gently, returning to the bed. He sat down on the edge, running his hands through Anakin's hair.

* * *

A week later, the rebel fleet had just barely managed to regroup and recuperate on a remote moon at the edge of the outer rim.

They mourned the loss of one of their last great generals, licked their wounds and made plans to continue to gather forces.

-

That was, at least, until the news reached them that the Emperor was dead.

That the Grand General Darth Maeror had vanished.

Mace Windu learned it via a direct communication from Bail Organa, now able to communicate openly with the Rebels to strategize the next steps on the long road to peace. 

In the months to come, Mace Windu would meditate on the deeply lamentable fact that Anakin Skywalker had been lost - finally given his life to save both himself and the last of their culture in a dog fight that would prove to be the final battle between the rebels and the Empire’s forces. 

Had Darth Maeror’s revelation that - not only was his old padawan alive, but killed by his hand - enough to make the sith turn on his master?

It was a chilling notion to consider. Even more so when Mace Windu caught wind of the whispering suggestion - the faint tug of the force - that whispered to him that Anakin Skywalker was not one to die easily. 

But for now, he let himself be content with the long task of striving for order in the galaxy. 

After all, he more than most knew an Anakin who wished to stay hidden would not be found. 


End file.
